Breakage
by Whiskerface
Summary: Six-year-old Hiccup gets in the worst trouble of his life. After his punishment, he must sort through events with his father, Stoick. All rights to How to Train Your Dragon belong to Cressida Cowell and Dreamworks.


**Breaks and Fixes**

Hiccup fled up the staircase, fell on his bed, stuffed his face in the furs, and wept until exhausted. When he opened his eyes, the long shadows told him it was sunset. Hiding in the darkened room, Hiccup looked back at the mess he'd made.

Climbing up there was stupid. When his father snatched him out of his fall, Hiccup clung to his neck, and buried his face in the thick beard. Once his feet hit the dirt, he glanced at his dad and knew he swapped one bad situation for another. Stoick loomed over Hiccup, his eyes flashing and his eyebrows drawn down in a glower. His dad put a massive hand on his shoulder and hauled him home.

His dad was huge and sometimes joked he was four Hiccups wide and more than two-and-a-half Hiccups tall. The difference in their sizes was funny, until today. Now he huddled against the wall and craned his neck to face his towering father. Stoick's face was red, and he paced the floor before turning to Hiccup, scowling through his beard. His father's clear, sharp voice filled the house, and Hiccup knew all of Berk heard the blistering words.

"_Climbing those trees was reckless_."

"_I forbade you from that place_."

"_You defied me_."

"_You could have __died__ today_."

Hiccup knew how his dad looked when he was angry, but that anger had never been directed at him. His dad never shouted or glowered at him; he didn't slam his palms on the table and lean forward, either. Today he did all that, and Hiccup fought to stand there and listen when he wanted to duck and run. He looked down once, and his father grabbed his chin, forced it up, and said, "Your eyes stay on me. You've disobeyed enough today; do _not_ make it worse for yourself."

Then his father spoke a sentence he'd never said before—"Bare your bottom." He delivered a long, hard spanking, then watched as Hiccup bolted. That had been hours ago.

Guilt felt like a rock in his chest. All the kids knew to stay out of the tall trees, and to keep away from Aerie Rock. Hiccup's dad told him to only climb as high as three stacked barrels, and never get on a rooftop. He broke all those rules. Before, when he got in trouble, Stoick was disappointed, but today his dad was enraged. His dad believed Hiccup would listen and follow orders, and he hadn't. His father was Chief on Berk, and he'd humiliated him in front of the tribe. He used to be able to look at him after a walloping and have it all behind them; this time, he ran straight to his room.

He knew his father loved him. When Hiccup felt unhappy or afraid, his father sat him in his lap and tickled him. Hiccup's dad taught him to swim and took him fishing and sailing. He showed him the constellations, and Hiccup could locate Thor's Hammer and Two Ravens without help. He told Hiccup stories—about Berk, about heroes like Bork the Bold, and about all the other Chiefs and Heirs before him—and promised that one day people would tell stories about Hiccup, too. He even got to tour Berk and pick good spots for catapults, because his dad said, "You need to learn these things, because one day you will fight beside me, and we will be warriors together." Now it felt impossible. There was too much damage, and he wondered how long might it take for his dad to forgive him. He didn't know, but it wasn't yet, not when his father was silent and he'd run away. Hiccup fractured something between them today, and needed to fix it.

He heard the knock, heard Gobber's voice, and snuck to his bedroom door. Gobber lost an arm and a leg to dragons long ago, and he smelled like coal dust and hot metal and sweat. Gobber _was_ the smithy: as boxy as the anvil and as strong as good iron, with a blonde moustache singed by the forge's sparks. Hiccup was his "wee laddie," and sometimes let Hiccup into the smithy when things were slow. Gobber was Stoick's best friend and the only person his dad talked to when he had bad days. Gobber visited and listened on nights when his dad needed somebody to help him.

"Stoick? D'you want more ale?" He gestured to his dad's tankard.

"Aye. Help yourself, and bring me another."

"I figured this was a night for it. Mead's not enough when the day's been this rotten." Gobber set a fresh mug in front of Stoick, claimed a chair, and said, "Tell me about today. What happened with Hiccup?"

"He got into one of those birch trees, the ones we keep trimmed back. He climbed it nearly all the way. Then he lost his grip in the top branches and fell until he grabbed hold again. I never moved so fast in my life, getting there to save him."

Hiccup opened the door wider and risked peeking out. His father stood and reached for the poker. As Hiccup watched the flames dance, Gobber stepped into his line of vision. "I know you've more to say, so spit it out. I'm one of cursed few people who know you're more than a chief, and the only one you can tell this to without being judged."

"I could not believe the boy would act so recklessly."

"You know he went above reckless today. Any tree that tall, he couldn't scale it from the bottom; he boosted himself higher to reach that high. He used a ladder or got on someone's roof first, then grabbed the nearest branch." Gobber's voice sounded serious and a little rough. "It wasn't an impulse. He planned it out and climbed up there on purpose."

Hiccup cringed. Stoick always required Hiccup to tell him each detail. This time his dad didn't ask him how he got that high, and now Gobber reminded him. Lying to Stoick provided a penalty, and telling the truth today would bring a penalty; he imagined standing before his father, too scared to speak, and making everything so much worse. _Please, no, please don't call me down_, Hiccup pleaded silently. _Please, Odin, please_.

"Do you think I have not figured it out? The boy's strength is in his mind, not his size; he thought himself into that disaster. The tree he got to was not even the one he wanted; he was trying for the one beside it when he slipped. And those trees were at Aerie Rock." Stoick choked on the last two words.

All Hiccup heard was the crackling of the fire. Gobber's mouth opened; he stood frozen, as if something would shatter if he moved. His dad stabbed at the fire. Fear permeated the room, and Hiccup remembered Stoick saying he could have died. That seemed unreal; Hiccup couldn't imagine any separation from his dad or Gobber. His dad needed him to bring ice blocks on bad days and pour his mead on good ones; Gobber would have no one to whisper to, or to laugh at his jokes. Hiccup wouldn't die, they'd always be together, but today he had frightened them. He felt himself shrink inside, like their fear was catching.

Gobber coughed, and his voice broke the heaviness. "So, did you give him a walloping?" Hiccup cringed; Gobber knew all about his spankings, and this one was fresh and horrible. He felt his bottom prickle. "You have to tell me—I'm not leaving until you do. What happened?"

"What happened?" His dad's voice was sour. "I marched the boy home, ordered him to be silent, shouted at him, and frightened the spit out of him. I blamed and accused him, then said I was furious with him. I never did any of those things before, and he did not know what to expect. To answer your other question, I did not wallop my son, Gobber."

Hiccup's jaw dropped. Stoick spanked him harder than ever today; any child on Berk would have been, and the Chief's son was no exception. Gobber was aware of each of his spankings—he knew even before his dad said one happened—but his father denied he'd given one. The tribe trusted Stoick, and Stoick never lied.

"Ah. I thought that might be part of the problem. Today was the day, then. You gave Hiccup his first spanking."

"Yes, and I hated it. He doesn't know there's a difference between a walloping and a spanking, and today he felt it on his skin. I struck him longer and harder than he knew possible. There was no other way, but I cannot feel good about it."

_Oh. That's why it was worse_.

"Aye, it's not a happy moment for either of you. You put it off as long as you could, but the lad's well over six, and you had no choice. He's sore and guilty and embarrassed, but he's alive. If the pain keeps him breathing, it's worth it." Stoick leaned the poker along the wall, and Gobber went on. "I remember my first. I was five and my da decided it was time. Hurts like Hel, that first one." Gobber looked at Stoick and asked, "How old were you?"

"Father had high expectations for the Hope and Heir to Berk. I was still three." Hiccup's eyes widened, and he saw Gobber flinch. "He ran straight to his room. Today wore him out. He's sleeping now, and ought to feel better in the morning. I did what I could, but there's no going back; now all his spankings will feel like that."

"Ah. That's why you didn't ask him to tell you all that happened."

"You said it yourself—the first time is miserable for everyone. Hiccup is a terrible liar and I always spot them. For this fiasco, whether he lies or tells the truth, I have to make it worse. This one time, I can let him think I forgot." Stoick stabbed at the embers. "But not again. He must learn to listen and obey, before he kills himself. If I have to make him suffer to keep him safe, I will. Hiccup's the best part of my life and the brightest thing on this island, and I refuse to lose him."

Hiccup closed the door and returned to his bed. His father and Gobber were afraid he might have died. His father didn't forget the questions—he skipped them. Hiccup couldn't imagine hurting more, but his father held back to spare him. His dad was the Chief, and the Chief always had to do what's right. But for his son, he would pretend not to know, and do wrong. Hiccup had to pretend he didn't hear the truth, and know he wasn't really punished. He'd listened, but still didn't know how to mend things. Hiccup curled up beneath the fur, exhausted, and closed his eyes. He'd talk to his dad in the morning, and figure it out. Right now his brain was full, and he needed sleep.

#

Stoick walked into the great room, where Hiccup stood waiting for him. His russet hair was combed, his face shining, and he wore a newer tunic that fell below his knees. He turned to Stoick and said, "Good morning, dad."

He observed his son. The night's sleep allowed Hiccup to recover. His usual bubbling speech was absent, but he seemed in decent spirits. He did not flinch or back away from Stoick, and greeted him first. The boy would need to talk—Hiccup rarely stopped talking—and Stoick would help him sort through yesterday's catastrophe.

"Good morning, Hiccup. Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah, I did. How about you?"

"Not bad, son." He stifled a yawn. "You rose early today."

"Uh-huh. If I came downstairs early, I could be ready when you woke up. You usually get me out of bed, and I wanted it to be different today." He wore a shy smile. "There's bread and milk and other stuff on the table. You know, to eat."

The sun was barely up, and dagmal wasn't for a couple of hours, but Hiccup had made an effort. Stoick saw the provisions waiting for him and the set table. Both mugs were clean, and the ones left from last night's visit with Gobber were gone; his son's industriousness included washing those and putting them on the shelf. The open shutters allowed the early light to brighten the room, and Stoick wondered how the house would have looked if he overslept. His son waited, expectant, as his father noted the changes.

Hiccup rose in darkness to accomplish this. Stoick recognized the labor his son put into this and honored it; they would eat now. He gave the boy a warm smile. "This is fine work, Hiccup." He tugged his son's chair next to his, and seated himself. "Join me." His son moved his mug and plate closer and hoisted himself on the edge of the seat. They ate, punctuating the stillness with passing plates and slicing bread. Hiccup had a few bites left when Stoick noted Hiccup peering at him. After his son swallowed the final mouthful, he looked at Stoick.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?"

"I have a question. Well, maybe not a question. It's..."

"Tell me what it is, Hiccup, even if you're not sure what to call it."

He hesitated. "Well, it's about yesterday. Yesterday was confusing. A lot happened, and I'm not sure what to do."

"What was confusing, son?"

"Lots of things. Not everything; I know it was wrong to get in that tree, and I know you had to punish me. But other things were different, and I didn't know what would happen. I feel better if I know what's going to happen." He searched his father's face for a reaction, and Stoick tossed his son another question.

"Were you afraid?"

"Yes, Dad, I was afraid, really afraid."

"Were you scared of me, Hiccup? Tell the truth." Stoick leaned forward and Hiccup stared at the floor.

"You were mad, and you're scary looking when you're mad. But I wasn't too frightened of you."

That was partially true, but not an outright lie. Telling your father he's terrifying—even when it's true—required courage, and Hiccup's bravery did not stretch that far. He would not push the point.

Hiccup tried again. "You always have things you do when I get in trouble, and you didn't do any of them. It scared me." He studied Stoick. "Do you know what I mean?"

"I think so, son." Stoick hadn't realized how those changes would affect the boy. There was no slow walk home, no sitting down together, and no questions to answer. Hiccup hadn't sat down with Stoick, but stood there while his father scowled down at him. Getting trapped in that tree frightened him, and altering his routine made it worse. "It's better for you when things stay the same."

"Yeah, Dad, it's a lot better. Yesterday...I hated yesterday. Nothing went right. I was stupid and I didn't listen, and you had to come get me. I wanted to go back and not climb that tree, but I couldn't. And...it's not over yet." His voice shrank. "I want it to be over."

In a gentle tone, Stoick asked, "What would make it over, Hiccup?"

"I need to do my part. I never told you anything, and I'm supposed to tell." Hiccup looked Stoick in the eye. "I have to do this. It's what's right and just and fair. The Chief must always do what's right and just and fair."

Odin help him, Hiccup just threw "a chief must" in his face. His son quoted Stoick on a chieftain's responsibilities, and the boy was right. He denied Hiccup the chance to tell his story. He never told the boy it was behind them, and now it lingered, driving Hiccup to plead for a chance to give his account. He understood offering the truth meant suffering another painful spanking, but it would be in the past. Somewhere inside, Hiccup knew that his dad might make a mistake, but the Chief served justice. Hiccup had appealed to his Chief, and Stoick had no other option.

"You want me to ask the questions, don't you?"

"Yes, Dad, I do."

"All right. When you answer them, Hiccup, will I like what you tell me?"

"No, you won't."

"Will I get upset?"

"Yes."

"Will you be in more trouble after you tell me?" His son gave a tiny nod.

"I did not put questions to you yesterday. You could have let me forget and stayed out of trouble. I know you do not want more punishment, so why did you remind me?"

"It wasn't right. You always ask. If you don't ask me, I can't tell you, and it won't be over." Hiccup struggled to explain. "Yesterday, I messed up and busted something, and I can't fix it if you don't ask the questions. I want it fixed."

"Can you tell me what you broke?"

His son murmured a response. "Son, I cannot hear you. Speak louder."

"I didn't listen, and I disobeyed, and you can't trust me anymore. I'm really sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to mess it up, but I did anyway." Stoick saw the sorrow on his face. "I broke us."

#

Hiccup's misery tore at Stoick. "Oh, son. You did not break us. You and I are harder to break than you know, even when the worst days occur."

"Really?"

"Really. We are not broken. Now you know that, do you still need to fix anything? Is it over yet?"

"No, Dad, it's not over. I'm waiting for the questions. I know I'll get another spanking." He fidgeted. "I don't want to, but it's gonna happen. Please, just ask me, so I can finish."

"All right. Why did you climb up into that tree yesterday?"

"I wanted to look at the bird's nest."

"You could see it from the ground, Hiccup. You need to give me a better answer."

"I wanted to see inside, close up."

"Why did you climb up there? You knew to avoid Aerie Rock." Hiccup winced. He was supposed to avoid that spot; climbing those trees was not his only disobedience.

"I don't like the ground." Hiccup squirmed under Stoick's gaze. "I like being high up, and in those trees, I'd be higher than anyone. No one else would climb up there."

"Why don't you like the ground, son?" Hiccup didn't answer. "Hiccup. I expect a complete answer that provides all your reasons. Why don't you like the ground?"

"The ground is boring. It's safe, but I don't want to be safe. I'm a Viking, and Vikings are bold. I can't fight or go voyaging yet, so I climbed that tree instead."

"Keep going." Stoick noted Hiccup's reluctance; the questions about his motivations came next. "Why did you want to be high up?"

"I wanted to keep away from everyone. I like being by myself."

"Why do you want to avoid everyone, Hiccup?"

He spoke slowly. "No one thinks I'm any good. I'm smaller than anybody. The other kids are too fast to keep up with, and play games I can't. The adults talk to me like I'm four, not six. Sometimes being alone feels better."

Stoick knew a pang of sorrow for his son, but asked what he hoped would be the final questions. "Hiccup, did you notice that nest before yesterday?"

"Uh-huh."

"Why did you climb up after it yesterday? Did something happen?"

"Yes."

"Tell me what happened."

"Snotlout said he'd play with me, and I had to chase him. I chased him, but I didn't see the hole. I caught my foot and fell and got scraped. Snotlout and Ruff and Tuff laughed at me, and said I was weak, and they ran off and left me. I just wanted to get away from there. So I climbed."

"Because..."

"I didn't want anybody around me." His shoulders slumped. "If I stayed, people would treat me like I'm little. I already felt bad, and that just makes it worse."

Stoick learned what he needed, and doubted there was more to his son's account. Still, his son lied to him once today, and Stoick wanted to see if it was becoming a habit. He challenged Hiccup.

"Hiccup, I want to know if I need to ask more questions. Am I done with 'why' questions, or do you have things to tell me?" Stoick wore a stern expression, his son's reminder to be truthful.

"You never asked why I was near the trees. I wasn't supposed to be there at all, and you left that one out." His son would be truthful—he wanted no extra trouble. Stoick planned to address the matter of Aerie Rock, and was satisfied Hiccup avoided lying as a practice.

"Why were you there, Hiccup? You know it is forbidden."

"I know. I like watching the island, and I can see a lot of Berk from there. If I sit in the right spot, I can see the ocean, too."

"Why do I think you've spent other days there?"

"Because I've sat there before. I like that place, so I kept coming back. I didn't want to stop going, even when it was forbidden."

Here were three "why" answers, when Stoick had asked for one. Hiccup's impatience to finish told a separate story; Hiccup had broken the rules too many times, and he'd keep going back. He regretted being caught, but not disobeying. He had no qualms about his actions, and no compelling reason to stay away. He would risk another spanking to return to the site, and that must not continue. Stoick returned his attention to Hiccup.

"Why do you think Aerie Rock is forbidden, son?"

"Because the trees there are dangerous. If I'm not there, I can't climb the trees."

"That's correct. What other reasons are there?"

"I don't know. I didn't know there were more." Hiccup scratched his head. "Are there more?"

"There are more reasons. Too many people have been injured there. It's steep and slippery. The ground is rocky, and falling will get you badly hurt. You can see the ocean because it's close to a cliff. You chased Snotlout and fell in a hole you didn't see. Imagine running off the cliff because you didn't spot the edge or stop in time." Hiccup's eyes widened. "It's empty of people, isn't it?" His boy nodded. "That's because everyone in the tribe avoids that spot, and all the youngsters on Berk are forbidden to go there. We warn every visitor to Berk about it, too."

He allowed his words to penetrate, then said, "I need you to answer another question. Can you count how many times you went there, Hiccup?"

"No."

"No what, Hiccup?" Stoick increased the pressure, making his child answer formally.

"No, sir. I do not know how many times I went there, sir."

"Ten times? Twenty times? Was it more than twenty times?"

Huccup mumbled, "More than twenty times, sir."

"How long have you been going, Hiccup?"

"Since midsummer, sir." So, this began three months ago. "The midsummer before harvest. Sir."

Stoick stared at the anxious figure before him. Over a year of risking his life for a view of Berk. Fifteen months of going near a cliff to see the ocean, because his boy thought the rules did not apply to him. "Yesterday, I told you that if you fell, you could have died. Do you think you were unfairly punished for that?" Hiccup shook his head. "Every time you went there, and didn't climb those trees, you still could have died, Hiccup. You've gone there a lot more than twenty times, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"If I punished you for every time you went, would it be unfair? If each one of those meant I became angry, shouted at you, and provided a spanking like the one you had yesterday, would it be unfair?"

"No, sir."

Stoick watched Hiccup. The boy thought in straight lines and his imagination would magnify this into a horror. He watched it dawn on Hiccup—he would be spanked and sore every night for weeks, maybe _months_. The shame haunting him and the remarks he'd hear would compound his misery. Stoick knew that a spanking every night would injure him. He'd be afraid to leave the house. It would consume his life; the daytime meant a wait filled with dread and the evenings filled with his enormous father angry and shouting, followed by pain and tears. It would not end for Hiccup until his dad finished every bit of it, but none of it would be unfair. Stoick refused to visit such monstrous cruelty on his six-year-old—his own childhood held too many spankings and shamings—but needed the boy to absorb the possibility, and use his shock to drive the lesson deeper.

"Dad? Sir?" His voice was nearly inaudible.

"Yes, son?" His boy's breathing sped up and he trembled. Stoick enclosed him in a gigantic arm, felt him tense, and touched his forehead to his son's. "It's all right, Hiccup. Do not be afraid. I would never harm you. I promise you are safe with me." Stoick shushed the boy, murmuring reassurances, then inhaled, telling his son, "Deep breaths. Take some deep breaths, it will help." Hiccup followed his father's instructions. By degrees, his breathing slowed, and his trembling dwindled until he was still. Shaken, he looked at his father.

"Hiccup, I would never hurt you that much. Never, son. I love you more than you can imagine." He stroked Hiccup's hair and felt the lad relax. "I want you to think about my words."

"Can I ask a question, sir?"

"Go ahead."

"Why did you say those things if you didn't mean them?"

Will you ever forget what I told you?"

"No, Dad." He caught himself. "No, sir, I won't forget."

"Being punished for everything would have hurt, not just once or twice, but for a long time. It would be painful to your body and your heart and to everything you are inside. You would be frightened and sad and wouldn't want to go places or do things. Am I right, son? You can call me Dad now."

"Yeah, Dad."

"If anything happened to you, Hiccup, I would feel exactly like that. If you died, I'd be afraid and hurting inside. I wouldn't want to be Chief or talk to people, or even eat." Stoick lost his wife when Hiccup was an infant, and only his son provided the impetus for him to keep going. Without Hiccup, Stoick would crumble inside.

Hiccup pondered this."You wouldn't?"

"For all my life, Hiccup. It would never be over, not if you died, son. I would always feel like that." He sat Hiccup on the table, and looked directly into his eyes. "You disobey and break rules and get in trouble. None of those things can break us, son. If you died, Hiccup, that would break us." Stoick lifted Hiccup's small hands, and enveloped them in his. "That would break _me_, and I could never be fixed."

Hiccup grew still, then crumpled. The welter of emotions on his face—terror, anguish, grief—showed him the boy understood. Stoick wrested his son's complacency from him. He risked the thing he loved most—his bond with his father. If he died, he'd destroy his dad, too. Stoick reached around and rubbed Hiccup's back, soothing him. This ordeal was concluded, and they were all right.

#

An hour had passed since they had finished eating, and the second half of the questioning remained. Hiccup stood on the floor before him and Stoick steeled himself to listen, cherishing these last moments of ignorance; Hiccup's account promised to be appalling. The adventures of Hiccup the Brave might be a good tale, but nothing prepared his father for hearing about them. Stoick didn't expect to be raising a daredevil, and thanked the gods his son still breathed.

"Tell me about yesterday; provide each thought and action, leaving nothing out."

"I went to Aerie Rock and there were tall trees. I saw the bird's nest, and decided to climb up to check for eggs or baby birds. The branches were too high to reach, but I knew the Abramsson's roof was near the trees. I looked for watchers, but no one saw me." His son took a break, and Stoick knew Hiccup was remembering each event.

"I overturned a bucket, stood on it, and climbed onto a barrel from there. I grabbed a shutter. From the shutter I grabbed the edge of the roof. I stood on the edge, and..." Hiccup halted.

"The entire story, son. '"I stood on the roof's edge..."'

"...and leaped to a tree. I caught the nearest branch; it was one thumblength thick. I moved toward the trunk of that tree, holding tight to the branch, and pulled myself to the next one. I stood up and started climbing." He took a breath, and Stoick wondered when the danger of his actions would register with him. "I climbed high, and the branches were thinner. The next tree held the bird's nest, so I leaned out and tried to grab a branch. My left foot slipped. I fell, but I grabbed a lower branch. It was weak, and I fell again. I grabbed a limb and held on with my right arm; I found a knothole with my left hand, and grabbed that, too. I couldn't get down. I yelled for help, and people came. Someone brought you." He halted.

"Finish, Hiccup." Stoick's stern voice compelled him. His son requested justice, and Stoick would not deny him. This was Hiccup's task to complete, and neither his feelings nor Stoick's mattered. "Now."

"I didn't have anything to stand on. I couldn't hold on for long enough. You were climbing up to get me. I lost my hold and grabbed for the trunk, but you caught me and carried me down to the ground. That's everything that happened, Dad."

"Good job." Stoick selected his words carefully. "The questions are over, and it's time to decide what comes next. This is difficult, because you must receive fitting discipline. A spanking or a grounding or extra chores are not enough. That's why you have to help me decide your chastening."

#

Hiccup was taken aback. "That's your job, Dad. I don't get to choose what happens."

"You never did before. Today you will. You caused this mess, you have to clean it up, and you are part of this decision. Now tell me your thoughts."

"I expected a spanking. Aren't you going to do that?"

"Do you think that's enough, Hiccup? For more than a year, you chose to disobey and risked your life repeatedly. Don't you think your punishment ought to be more severe than one spanking?"

"I guess so, Dad." He noted the reluctance, and brought out the next question.

"Is this unjust? You see me help with the tribe's problems and try to find the best solution. Am I being unfair?" The boy shook his head.

"As Chief, I sometimes solve problems for other people. Other times, I make them solve their own. You cannot leave this choice to me, son. It will take both of us to decide."

Stoick took a long pull of his drink. He never spoke so much at one time, and his throat was dry. Talking this through with Hiccup was a test of endurance, but everything changed in the space of a day. The absence of the routine and predictable unsettled his son, and he would use that. He couldn't leave Hiccup torn between being a young and irresponsible lad and being old enough to be accountable. Still, Stoick felt like he'd used two weeks worth of words and a week's worth of explaining in one conversation.

"Dad. I don't know how to start. I've never done this and I'm...stuck."

"Do you want help beginning?"

"Yes, please. I need a lot of help, and I have an idea, but maybe not a good one, or at least..." Stoick listened to Hiccup's mouth run on, relieved and amused by the onslaught of speech. Hiccup was back to prattling at his usual enthusiastic, breakneck rate. Stoick listened for another minute before stopping him.

"Some of those ideas are good ones, son, but wrong for today. We need something that fits your actions. Tell me your thoughts about that."

"Could you ask more questions, Dad? Sometimes that helps."

"All right, Hiccup. You climbed that tree. What is a good punishment for that?"

"Well, I can stop climbing those trees. But I'm not supposed to do that anyway. So, maybe I can't climb any trees."

"Maybe so. How many trees can you climb now?"

His son calculated the number. "Eight."

"You risked your life. Is being stopped from climbing eight trees enough?"

"No, I guess not."

"Give me another idea, or change the first one."

Hiccup considered it, then told his father, "I can't. I'm stuck again."

"That tree isn't the only thing you climbed, is it?" Stoick saw Hiccup remember the sequence of events. Bucket, barrel, shutter, roof—he climbed four other things before he grabbed a branch.

"No, it wasn't. But I don't have any ideas about that, either. Maybe," he mused, "hitting my head would wake up my brain? Gobber said it works."

_Gobber told you pictsies dance in the lit forge, too._ Stoick refused the distraction, saying, "Your brain is awake, Hiccup. Do you want another question?" He nodded.

"If you got up to the edge of that roof and stopped, would you still be in trouble?"

"Yeah, I would."

Another short answer. The excited gabble was gone, and Stoick knew Hiccup was not stuck, but recalcitrant. He had no desire to create his own punishment. His son asked for justice and Stoick was providing it. He didn't get to choose how it arrived.

"What questions do I usually ask you?"

"What did I do, and how did I do it, and why."

"Since you know the questions, ask them and answer them yourself. I'll listen." Stoick observed his son's dismay, and felt a twinge of satisfaction. His son had quoted "a chief must" at him; now Hiccup was caught by his own words. "Begin with your last answer. Why?"

"Because I didn't have permission. Because climbing up there is dangerous." Stoick motioned for Hiccup to continue. "Because I could get hurt?" Stoick watched his boy pursue the idea, then look at Stoick. "I need another question."

Stoick remained silent and saw Hiccup realize his father wasn't going to ask—it was his job now. No pleading looks or acting stuck would succeed. He knew the questions, his father gave him the task of asking them, and he had to keep going.

Cornered, Hiccup said, "What happens next? I might get hurt. Then I have to see the healer, and I'd know not to do that...but I knew anyway."

"Put it in a sentence, son."

Hiccup's relief at being interrupted became chagrin; one sentence provided no way to avoid looking bad. "I broke the rules, hurt myself, and learned I was stupid for disobeying."

The answer stung his pride. His son admitted he was an idiot, but stating the details made it real. He hated making mistakes, and the day before was full of blunders. Hiccup wanted to forget everything and Stoick refused to allow it. His son hesitated, searching for a way out, and Stoick folded his arms, radiating a willingness to wait.

"How. How do I fix this? I never did it—I never got hurt—so I can't fix that. I did disobey and it was dumb." Stoick raised an eyebrow, and Hiccup admitted, "_I_ was dumb."

"True." Hiccup frowned, dissatisfied.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Hiccup?"

"I can't think of any more questions. Can you help me, please?" The boy's face told Stoick he had genuinely run dry. This time, Stoick would help him.

"Use so, and, since."

"I was dumb, so...I have to be smarter. So I don't get in trouble and get punished again. And so other people won't think I'm stupid." He halted. "So, I need to listen more and follow the rules, because I'm tired of people thinking I'm little and stupid." He emitted a noise between a sigh and a huff, and said, "I need to fix _that_."

"Aye. That you do." Hiccup looked at his father, startled. The boy hadn't expected the comment, or any remark at all. It was a welcome surprise, and Stoick saw his son absorb his words and consider them.

His lips moved silently, forming the six words he'd been given to use. He became intent, repeating them while staring forward. Stoick observed him think; Hiccup's focus on the problem blocked out all else. He would find a solution. The boy's stubbornness got him into this and he would use it to find his way out. Stoick rose, poured water for them both, and sat down to study his son.

Hiccup looked at his father, frowned, and shook his head; he would not ask for help. Stoick settled in his chair and raised his mug to drink. His son pursed his lips, appearing dissatisfied, and he wondered how long the boy would chase the idea in his head. Stoick could not remember seeing this determined focus before; his look of concentration had grown to nearly a scowl. The flagon was almost empty when the boy's brow cleared, and he looked at his father again.

"I need to talk."

#

Hiccup was cross. His dad stuck him with answering his own questions, and it stunk. He worked on figuring something out, but no ideas came. It bugged him that he wasn't getting the answer, even with his dad's help. He was tired of everything—tired of questions, tired of being in trouble, tired of people thinking something was wrong with him. He was talking through the "so's" and thinking about the tribe when he said it. _I need to fix that_. He could fix it. The idea was a good one, but he had to save it for later. Hiccup still needed to pick a punishment.

Then his dad looked at him and said "Aye." His dad wouldn't talk unless Hiccup really needed help, but he'd looked at Hiccup and agreed with him. His dad saw him, not a little kid who didn't know things, and when he spoke his dad listened like his words mattered. His father talked to him in an adult voice, the kind he used when villagers approached him with a problem. Hiccup kept going over the question words, trying to figure things out, but part of him considered his father.

His dad hadn't asked the questions yesterday and this morning gave him a chance to skip them. He was kind, but Hiccup made him ask. Once his dad started asking, he became serious. When he told his father about Aerie Rock, his dad got frightening. He stared at Hiccup and talked about all the times he could have died and asked how many times he'd gone there, and asked if having lots of shouting and spanking was fair. Hiccup had to tell the truth, and he knew it was fair. Then he looked at his dad and realized he could do it. Hiccup felt sick. His father was scary yesterday, and he'd be scary every day this happened. His dad wouldn't smile or laugh or tell him about the stars. It would go on for a long time, and really, really hurt. He'd be all alone. The whole tribe would know he was still disgraced. It would be awful, but it would be fair. He knew it would happen, and all he could do was shake. His father came close and told him it was okay and he was safe, but he still said it first. He wanted Hiccup afraid, so he'd remember. His dad stopped being kind; that was for little boys, and Hiccup wasn't little. He looked over at his dad and saw him waiting. He needed to keep thinking because he couldn't talk to his dad until he finished the idea. He forgot about the questions and focused on his father.

His dad made it hard too, forcing him to think up his own punishment and ask his own questions and only give Hiccup help if he wanted. It was a rotten thing to do—this was his _dad's_ job and he got it anyway. But Stoick listened and paid attention. Then he said "Aye."

His dad had treated Hiccup like he was little. Today he stopped and decided his son needed to be punished as a six-year-old. No letting him have it easier or how he wanted. He expected his son to be responsible, and he took Hiccup seriously. That was what Hiccup wanted and how he could fix being treated like a little. He had to make the tribe see he was serious. Now he had a good idea, one he could use. He turned to his dad.

"I need to talk."

#

His father gave him a nod and leaned forward, expecting Hiccup to begin. Hiccup told him, "The only way to fix this is to make them see me. It's hard, because they look at my size, but not anything else. I need to make them look at something that's more than my size. I don't know what that's gonna be."

His dad leaned forward. "Can I interrupt?"

Wow. His dad just asked him for permission. "Yeah, Dad, go ahead."

"Instead of making them look at something, you might show them."

Hiccup played the words in his head. "Them" meant the adults. Almost every grownup treated him like he didn't know anything. Only Gobber didn't, and Gothi. He thought about Gothi.

Gothi gave him work to do: sweeping the floor, bringing water, picking herbs. At Gothi's hut, he paid attention. She never talked, and if he wanted to learn, he needed to concentrate. She demonstrated the steps for each task, and let him attempt the work. She'd take his hand and put the spoon in it, then guide his motions until he learned the rhythm for stirring. She led his hands to measure water into a mixture, and to press petals to dry, and to fill her bags of herbs. Once he knew how, she trusted him to work at the task. She watched him and helped only when he needed her. That was showing him, and that's what he must do for other people. Hiccup's solution was to show them he was more than they thought. He didn't know how yet, but the answer was inside his head; it just needed to come out.

Gothi was the smallest adult on Berk, shorter than a ten-year-old. The tribe relied on her. She carried a long wooden staff and even if you couldn't see her, you saw the staff. She was strong and smart and tricky. She became cranky when people behaved stupidly, and glared at them to make them think. The tribe's ideas about her weren't about how tall she was, but _who_ she was. He had to show them who he was, what he was like, and what he could do. Hiccup couldn't change his size, but he might change someone's mind about him. He turned to his dad.

"I can show everyone. If I show people who I am and what I know, they'll know there's more than size." Hiccup paused, then looked at his dad. "Can you keep listening? It helps."

"Yes, son. Go ahead."

"Gothi's short. No one sees it or cares because she's Gothi. Everybody respects her. She's a healer and an elder and she's tough. People don't bother her because she'll hit them with her staff." He father covered his mouth and his eyes crinkled, but he listened. "Gothi's a lot older than I am, so people have practice in how they think about her, and she has practice in showing them who she is. So, they know what to think about Gothi, because she shows them first. Like when she teaches me how to pick plants or stir mixtures."

He frowned. "I still don't know how to show people anything. But what works with Gothi works with everybody. Gobber shows people who he is and so does Uncle Spitelout. So do you." His father nodded. "So what do they see when they see me? What do I show them?" His dad looked at him and gave a short jerk of his chin, and Hiccup pursued the idea. "They see I'm small, but it's more than that. They don't just see me," he had it now, "they _watch_ what I do. What I do makes them think the way they do." His Dad's lips quirked for a moment, and Hiccup knew he was almost there. "I make them decide I'm weak and stupid. I make them think I'm small."

His face lit up. Hiccup had found the problem and knew what caused it; all he needed was a good solution. He knew the answer was inside him, waiting. His dad solved problems for the tribe all the time, and he would help Hiccup solve this.

The idea struck him like a blow. His dad was the Chief. Hiccup was the only person in the tribe whose dad was the Chief. This morning, he was sitting with both of them. Hiccup had seen the quick nods and head tilts in meetings and conversations, and been exposed to his "I'm listening" look when people came to him for advice or help or just to complain. But his father also had things that were only his, like needing ice blocks after a long day or whistling when he thought nobody heard him. He had a way of sitting back with his mouth in a straight line, staring forward that no one understood. Only Hiccup knew it was his dad's way of not laughing when he needed to stay serious. His father and the Chief were the same person, but not exact. His dad chose what the tribe saw, and Hiccup could choose what people saw about him.

He was blocked. He had to finish this, and there was a wall between what he knew and the answer. It was time to go back to thinking about his original task. That might help him find the answer.

"Dad. Can I ask a question?"

"What is it, son?"

"Why must I pick my punishment? You always do, and every time I'm the person making the mistake. If you can decide it then, why not now?" He was aggrieved; it felt unfair, even though he knew it wasn't.

"The trouble you are in is larger, so your consequences are larger. Having to choose is a consequence."

The answer made an uncomfortable kind of sense. Hiccup wasn't supposed to enjoy discipline, and deciding how it happened was part of the punishment. His dad had already done some of the work by picking this task for him. Hiccup didn't like it, but he had to admit he wasn't expected to choose everything. His father said they'd do it together. It was his mess to clean up.

What he showed the villagers yesterday was his mess, too. They saw it and heard about it, and decided he was still little. They saw him disobey and get in trouble. They knew he shouldn't be there and that his dad told him to stay away. They knew he risked his life. He caused all that. He didn't act his age. They thought he was as old as he behaved, and that was four, maybe younger. He had to act another way—smarter, more obedient, more helpful.

He had to work.

The only work Hiccup did was what people asked him to do. They didn't ask often, and what they asked for wasn't hard. He carried things like thread or picked up a cup that fell to the floor or watched for people to arrive. Frowning, he realized he was given part of a task, not the whole thing. No one asked him to bring needles with thread, or wash the cup and put it back. He wasn't supposed to greet people or help them, either. They thought he couldn't do any of that. If no one thought he could work, then they wouldn't give him work. He couldn't prove himself without tasks to do. It went around in a circle. He exhaled sharply.

He drank his water, hoping for a solution to pop into his head. Draining his mug didn't help; the problem remained, and Hiccup's annoyance grew. He'd acted like a stupid kid. His thinking and his actions caused this mess. He fought his dad and broke the rules and the mess got bigger. Now he had the answer and no way to use it, and no one could fix it but him. There was no solution and his dad expected him to find one. He didn't want this. It was like having nails jabbing into him. He had done resentment inside overwhelmed him, and the words burst forth.

"I'm sick of this. It's too much. This is not my job." He glared and snapped at his father. It shocked them both, and his dad stared at him.

Hiccup was aghast, appalled that such words had come out of his mouth, and a million thoughts crossed his mind in an instant. His dad understood if Hiccup felt fed up or impatient, and had to let it out. But this was much worse. He hadn't been annoyed or frustrated or even rude—the line he thought it was impossible to cross had been breached. This was way beyond "Come here right now." It was worse than "You do not speak to me like that," and even surpassed Astrid's account of having your mouth washed out with soap.

Hiccup had been _insolent_.

"Stand up straight and look at me." Hiccup faced his father and saw the scowl, the set jaw, and the ice in his father's eyes; Stoick was a glacier, huge and cold and forbidding. After a silence, his father stated, "The way you addressed me was abominable. Never do you behave that way. I am your father, Hiccup, and I commanded you to do this. You do not refuse, or rebel, or raise your voice to me. Never do you glare or snap at me. Your behavior is disgraceful and there will be consequences." His tone was severe, sharper than a sword, and every word justified.

Hiccup's emotions churned; he was stricken, ashamed, and disgusted with himself. This morning, his dad listened to Hiccup and talked to him like his son was grown. His dad cared about him and wanted him to be okay. Hiccup knew he had stayed home for him, when he had all of Berk to look after. He gave Hiccup a challenge: pick your punishment. When he didn't like it, Hiccup defied his father and spat in his face. He fractured something else and had no fix for it. A long time later, he saw his dad tilt his head and gesture with his hand; he was expected to respond.

"I'm sorry." He knew it wasn't enough, but Hiccup didn't have any way to say everything in his heart. He was a horrible person, disobeying and yelling and treating his dad like he didn't care. Another spanking wouldn't be enough; this was too bad. He might have to be called before the village or put in the cells. He didn't want that, but he wanted this fixed more. Whatever happened or how his dad decided, he must accept it. Hiccup did the only thing he could think of—he walked straight up to Stoick, leaving almost no space between them, and told his father, "I'm ready."

#

He finished his speech to Hiccup, restraining the fiery rage that wanted to burst out like dragonfire and scorch his son. Hiccup must not know about the temper he had trouble containing, or the desire to verbally attack his son so the entire village would hear. He could never know about the vile voice that whispered to Stoick. _Hit him. Hurt him. Compel his obedience. Pain is a teacher and misery will make him remember. He is the son of the Chief and must know discipline, so he does not fail the tribe or blacken the Haddock name. This is your duty._

Stoick despised that voice. Halvar Haddock was years dead, but his words haunted Stoick. The desire to strike Hiccup had never come at such a terrible time—his son's transgressions kept building and Hiccup's insolence should be the tipping point. He could scream at Hiccup and it would be acceptable. He could deride his son and condemn him, and could strike his body to the point of injury. Stoick could publicly and painfully humiliate Hiccup, because he was the boy's father.

The way Halvar the Unflinching had treated his son Stoick.

The anger receded, relieving him of the temptation to lash out. He refused to be his father, and every time a memory triggered him, he gagged the evil bastard and wrestled him back into his prison. This time, Hiccup had gone too far and must endure physical punishment. Stoick must choose and act with care, but that decision was for later; it was time to come back to the problem in front of him. He gestured to Hiccup.

"I'm sorry." It was a whisper. His son struggled to speak, to answer for his actions. He regretted it all: the words, the glare, his raised voice, his audacity. The Greeks in the distant south had a word for it—_hubris_. Hiccup had been brazen and arrogant and Stoick knew he was horror-struck the moment the words left his mouth. Now he could barely speak, and Stoick knew he wouldn't need to drive into the boy just how wrong his behavior had been. He would not let it drop—Hiccup required a full grasp of what he had done—but the boy was castigating himself and appeared contrite. Watching Hiccup, he saw a change in his son. The boy stared into the distance, and his mind was working out something. The storm of emotions passed, replaced by determination. Hiccup lifted his chin and walked toward him with purpose, stopping only when he could not get any closer.

"I'm ready."

Stoick was shocked. He never used that tactic, never forced his son to ask for his punishment as if he wanted it. Being disciplined was hard enough without cramming it into the boy that he was some sort of sacrifice and should be willing to walk toward the knife. He had no idea why Hiccup chose this. Hiccup, on the other side of his first spanking, relied on Stoick to know what would best serve as punishment. He believed his dad could never harm him, that no number of blows from his father's hand would keep him from his dad's arms. His son was unafraid and trusting Stoick.

"You should be sorry, and I believe you are. I know you are ready, but I am not."

"Sir?"

"I know you expect an answer, but it will have to wait. Do you know why?"

"Waiting is a consequence." Stoick knew his son had more to say. "Dad? Are you gonna put me in the cells?"

"No son, never. This is between us and no one else needs to know. Anything I do, I will first tell you about. All right?" Stoick immediately quashed the notion, and Hiccup's chin came up.

"Alright. Do I have to pick this one, too?"

"You do not. I will choose your discipline."

Hiccup appeared satisfied. He offered himself, not knowing the outcome, and hoped for an answer. He got enough of one to set his mind at rest, and became the child Stoick was used to seeing. Hiccup plopped into his chair, kicking his legs and waiting for his dad to restart things.

"Have you thoughts on what to do?"

"I had an idea, but it doesn't work. And I'm too busy wondering about other stuff to concentrate."

"What other stuff, son?" Hiccup hesitated, then reached a decision.

"Dad?" His father inclined his head. "You yelled at me yesterday, and you never yell. You should yell more, but you don't, even when I deserve it." He faltered, then went on. "I have something I want to say, but I don't know if I can say it. It's not about anything I've done wrong, but you might not like it. It's about you."

Stoick pondered the problem. Hiccup needed to get rid of this, whatever it was. He would not force a confession, but offer an opportunity. "I can't promise what I'll do, Hiccup, but I will think about your words. You make this choice, son."

"You don't like me getting in trouble, because you don't like punishing me. I think there were times you were mad, but said you were disappointed, like you didn't want me to feel bad. Why didn't you get mad before yesterday?"

#

How could he answer a question like that? His son's sharp mind found another discrepancy between Stoick's words and his actions, and the boy could not grasp why his dad refused to become angry. Stoick's choice looked clear-cut to his son; Hiccup knew little about grey areas and Stoick had to make him understand. "Why do you ask, son?"

"I never thought about it before, but yesterday, you were shouting and angry and I was afraid." A pause, then, "I lied to you today, when I said I wasn't too frightened of you, because you were really scary, Dad." He continued in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry for my falsehood, sir."

Hiccup provided the standard response for lying, and Stoick set the transgression aside for later. "All right. Tell me the rest."

"I've gotten in trouble before, and you were never mad at me. If I didn't listen, or disobeyed, or did the same wrong thing again and again, you never shouted. Other parents get mad and yell at their kids, even the little ones. Everybody expects it. I think you must have wanted to be angry and yell at me before yesterday. Why didn't you?"

"You are correct, Hiccup. I did not want you feeling bad." _And I hated the raised voices when I was in trouble_. "That's why I waited."

Hiccup grimaced. "That's wrong. It means you stayed angry because you couldn't get rid of it. I didn't know you were mad, and I'd keep getting in trouble. Doing that made things too hard for you." Hiccup stopped, but the words "too easy for me" hung in the air, and his son looked pained. "You let me hurt you over and over, and I never behaved, so I hurt you more. I thought everything was okay, but it wasn't and I can't fix that, either. You should have shouted at me sooner." A long pause, then Hiccup looked at him. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Hiccup." The boy met his eyes, and Stoick detected fresh shame. "You cannot feel bad about this. I did not want to yell at you, and I was disappointed. If it was wrong, the mistake is mine. Do not think this is your fault, son. _I_ chose this."

"Some choices are untidy. I didn't yell or become angry because I did not want to hurt you or make you afraid. I do not like you to feel those things, because when you hurt, I hurt too. I want to be disappointed, not angry. Many decisions cannot be perfectly just or fair. I chose not hurting us and I believe it was the best decision."

"This morning, you told me I was not scary. I saw through your lie, Hiccup." His son's mouth opened. "We both know you are terrible at lying, and telling the truth is safer and smarter. I told you to be truthful and lying means more trouble for you. So, were you trying to keep me from feeling bad?" Hiccup nodded.

"That wasn't right either. It was an untidy answer, but a decent one. You lied and disobeyed to spare my feelings. It was wrong and risky and kind, but you showed bravery, and I saw that, too." Stoick answered the next question before Hiccup asked. "You are in trouble for lying, but you lied to help me. It was unselfish, and I will punish more for selfishness than for kindness. You will be all right."

#

"You said you had an idea, son. What can you do with it?"

"I don't know. I found the answer but it doesn't work. Not for me, anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because I messed up too badly, and no one's going to think I can do better."

"Tell me the answer." There must be some way to settle this if Hiccup had found a solution.

"If I work, they'll change their minds, but I don't have any work to do. Nobody thinks I'm good for anything, so they don't ask me to help."

The boy was right. No one thought him capable. Other children his age were learning a family trade; the Chief's son had different responsibilities, and much of it was studying things that the tribe found unnecessary. They did not need to know rules for greeting other Chiefs and their heirs. None of them were required to learn Latin. Hiccup had few concrete, physical skills, and that's what Berkians valued; baking and fishing and carpentry were real work. No one got tired and sweaty reading books. Hiccup was learning his trade, and to the others he looked idle.

This was his son's disaster, but the dynamics of the village made it worse. Stoick was nearly seven feet tall with flaming red hair and a booming voice. The boy was astute enough to know how much he was compared to his father, and no child would measure up to that. The contrast in size meant the tribe saw nothing else. People overlooked qualities like his willingness or intelligence, and Hiccup received harsher criticism than warranted. Stoick couldn't stop the talk, but it weighed on his son, and now the boy was trapped and couldn't find a way out. His son needed something of his own, to give a visible contribution to the tribe, and Stoick could see no way to accomplish that. He understood the boy's frustration.

Hiccup took a break from finding a punishment and that had led them somewhere. Stoick would do the same. The boy was deep inside his head, growing more discouraged, and Stoick needed to bring him back to right now.

"Sweep the floor."

"What?" Hiccup hadn't registered the words, but Stoick had his attention.

"Sweep the floor, son."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

Hiccup fetched the broom and swept left to right, using small strokes. He knew the floor was clean, but worked in a regular pattern, paying close attention to corners. He did a thorough job, replaced the broom, and returned to his father. Stoick noticed his son had relaxed.

"Good. Wipe down the table."

He didn't question his father. Hiccup put the food away and cleared dishes, setting the mugs aside for later. He ran the rag over the already-clean tabletop, wiping each square inch before returning to the far end and beginning again. Three repetitions later, Hiccup looked at Stoick. He was puzzled about the reason for the chores, but no longer frustrated.

"Hiccup." Stoick spoke carefully. "Earlier, I gave you an order and you asked me why. Do you still want to know?"

"Yeah, I do. You've never given me chores that didn't need doing, Dad. It was weird."

"You listened to me, followed orders, and did as I expected. You obeyed me. Yesterday, and at other times you disobeyed. Today you chose differently. Why?"

"I had to—you said so."

"What about the days you didn't listen? You could have argued or ignored me. Why did you follow the rules today?"

"I have to listen. Not listening gets me in trouble. It got me in trouble yesterday." He frowned. "I'm not going to be that stupid again."

"You do not have to do the same things you did before, Hiccup. You cannot take back your actions, but you can change them now. That is how you show people."

"No I can't. It's impossible, Dad."

"Then we can talk about something else. I want to discuss your spanking."

Hiccup gave Stoick a look that was a speech. He didn't want to discuss it, and he was horrified he had to, and he dare not disobey. He was ashamed and uneasy, and...a bit curious, too.

It was the curiousity Stoick wanted.

"Let me start. When I finish, you tell me where I made mistakes. Yesterday was a terrible day, perhaps the worst of your life. It was scary and painful and new and harsh. Nothing could stop it, and you never hurt so much in your life." Hiccup nodded solemnly.

"You wanted to run and hide from everyone. Your heart was ripped up inside, and you were certain the whole world knew what happened." Another nod.

"You were mad at yourself and called yourself an idiot and decided to never get in trouble again. You cried for a long time, and it wore you out. Being happy again seemed impossible."

"Nothing felt safe. I struck you on your bare bottom and there was no escaping. I turned on you and that was never supposed to happen. You wanted Dad to be far away and to hold you close, all at the same time. You might even have hated me."

"I didn't hate you."

"All right. I know how it feels because I felt that way after my first spanking, too. I felt all those things."

"You did?" Hiccup's eyes grew round.

"Yes. I was a lot littler then, smaller than you are, and your grandfather was very big. I hated it and I hated him, for a tiny while." Hiccup sat and digested this statement, disbelieving.

"Every child in this village is spanked when they're old enough, and every adult felt them when they were children. Everyone finds out what it's like. All of Berk knows how much trouble you got into. People will talk and they will ask and it will be embarrassing. Snotlout will have plenty to say; I know he had his first. No matter how much he denies it, he ran and hid and cried, too."

'What do I do, Dad? I don't want to go out there—everyone will know."

"Aye, it's difficult. Being around folks afterward is worse than the spanking itself. Your father is the Chief and you will have no privacy. People will make comments and ask questions and watch how you behave. They will pick at you, some of them, and you must be ready for that."

Hiccup swallowed. "I can't stand them all doing that, Dad. It's too much."

"Hiccup, you must see people again, and you will. How you face them is important."

"I-I can't Dad. It's too bad, what I did, and seeing people now is even worse."

"How you react to this—the embarrassment, the rude remarks, having other kids poke your bottom"—Hiccup grimaced at this, "is a chance to show every adult who you are. Inside this house, where no one can see, you can run, hide, and cry. Outside these walls, with people watching, you will keep your head up and look others in the eye. You will admit to what happened. When people ask what you are punished for, tell them you were disobedient to your father. Make no excuses. Face people and let them see you are old enough to accept the treatment they give you. You earned your chastening, all of it, and you can tell them that. Remember, you will receive more than a spanking; other punishments are coming, and you may tell them about those things, too."

"You lied to me and later admitted your lie, knowing it meant trouble. You asked to tell your story when you knew it would bring another spanking. You took your first spanking, then got up early and cleaned the house to please me. You walked to me and told me you were ready, even if I put you in the cells. You spoke and acted bravely, and I saw your strength. You showed me you are no longer little; you have to show everyone else now."

Hiccup digested this, puzzling through the words. He addressed Stoick. "I'm not going to like this."

"Correct."

"Everyone's going to laugh at me."

"Keep going."

It came out in a rush."I'm gonna hate it. People will talk to me about being spanked. They'll remind me about everything I did wrong. Everyone will whisper and point. Over and over, I'll have to think about getting scared and dizzy and how I slipped and fell. I'll hear about how I almost died. I don't want to remember and they won't let me forget. They'll say rude things. Snotlout and the twins will snicker and say stuff all the time and they'll be loud so people can listen. It'll be embarrassing and awful and everyone will tell me I have to behave better. It stinks. It worse than stinks."

"It stinks like yak dung."

"It stinks worse than yak dung." His tone was definite.

"Aye."

"I can't stay home. I can't argue with anyone and I have to tell the village over and over that I was stupid, and I got it, and it was all my fault since I disobeyed."

"Yes, son, you do. Some will sneer and say I should have done more to you, and you deserve it. If you were their son, it would have been worse. That you're lucky because you went so long. They will want you to tell them everything you did wrong. You may even hear them wish harsher punishments on you. I will be criticized for not being tougher on you, and told how to discipline you next time. People like Mildew will gladly say all this to my face."

"Mildew." Hiccup winced. Mildew the Unpleasant hated everyone and they hated him back, but it never stopped folk from listening and agreeing. Mildew would be thrilled to attack them. Stoick was expecting him to glory in this, but Hiccup had forgotten about the vicious old git.

"You shall do this, Hiccup. Show all of Berk who you are. Let them see you do hard things, like admitting you felt my hand on you, that it was your fault, that you earned this for disobeying. Let the village see you do it over and over again. Some of those folk expect you to act irresponsibly, so prove them wrong."

"I can't, Dad. I'm gonna mess up if I try."

"I command it, Hiccup. Do you choose to disobey?" Stoick was Hiccup's father and his Chief, and there was no arguing with either one.

"No sir." He seemed resigned; these were consequences. "I'll obey you. I'll listen to you and follow your orders. You are my Chief and I answer to your command."

Hmm. Hiccup had been studying tribal justice to come up with that musty relic. "You begin tomorrow. Today you stay home all day. Have you any ideas for punishments?"

"If everyone's going to know I'm punished anyway, can I pick someone to hear my story? At least someone will know the whole thing, not just some of it. Someone who won't tell, even when it's embarrassing."

"Why do you want this, son?"

"I want one adult on Berk to be on my side, even if she never does anything about it. I want to pick something I don't like, and I hate telling this to anybody. It's _horrid_. I'll tell everything I did wrong and about today. I'll tell her about being scared, about how much I disobeyed, about fighting you and acting small. I want to tell her I was stupid, but I plan to be smarter. And I want to tell her about you, Dad, about how good you were and how rude and angry and horrible I was. And that you still didn't shout at me, even when I was," he gulped, "insolent."

"All that, Hiccup?"

"Yes."

"Is it Gothi?"

"Yes."

"If Gothi agrees, it will be only the two of you there. If you don't tell her everything, only you will know it. This is a long story, and it makes you look bad. You have to promise yourself to include every bit, every detail. It will be hard."

"I know."

"She's impatient with foolishness, you know. She will disapprove of what you did and has good aim with her staff. Telling her might leave bruises."

"I'll be okay—she doesn't hit me hard." Hiccup grinned.

"You can ask and see what she says. Do you have other ideas for your discipline?"

"I know it needs to make me unhappy, and to fit what I did, but I don't know how to put both of them into one punishment."

"Well, what makes you unhappy?"

"Being punished." Stoick pretended not to see the spark of mischief in the boy's eyes.

"What else?"

"Being around Snotlout."

"That's not something we can turn into a punishment. Try again."

"Okay. I don't like being grounded, getting sick, getting hurt, falling out of trees..." He stopped, reminded of what he had done, then went back to the list. "I don't like being made fun of, or being ignored, or people who think I'm small. I'm unhappy when I've done stupid things and messed up. I'm unhappy when I run out of paper and charcoal. I don't like it when the rain keeps me inside or you have to leave when we're eating, even when it's not your fault. I don't like it when people bug you over dumb stuff. I don't like Gobber telling me I can't come in the forge. I don't like people yelling at me when I didn't do anything wrong. I don't like dragons or seeing houses that got burnt. I don't like that you go outside to fight dragons."

"All right. That's a useful list. If you cannot come up with any more ideas for your discipline, I will decide the rest. Do you want to try?"

"No, I want you to pick the rest."

"You run all over the island—the docks, the forest, the hot springs—and I allow it. Yesterday you went to a place I forbade you from going. Since you cannot be happy with what you had, you will be confined to the village for four weeks. Since you cannot leave the village, you have no need to run everywhere. You will walk all that time." Hiccup watched Stoick, accepting the restrictions without complaint.

"You may not run, skip, climb, jump, or swim. Climbing anything without permission from me is forbidden. You may climb on steps one at a time and to get into chairs. Anything else requires my approval. If you decide to violate the idea behind any restriction, you will receive additional punishment." At his son's baffled look, Stoick elaborated. "If you go in the water to float instead of swim, it is still forbidden. If you hop instead of jumping, it is still forbidden. It will be disobedience."

"For lying, I expect you to write lines." Hiccup was relieved—"I shall not tell lies" was a familiar friend. "You shall write 'I willfully disobeyed my father and my Chief by telling a falsehood. It was dishonest and disrespectful and I must not lie to them again' fifty times. Two sentences and twenty-five words, and I want to see it tonight." Stoick saw a flash of indignation before Hiccup looked away; his sentences and lines were not supposed to change. He had five times the words to write, and some of them were long. Stoick turned Hiccup's head, stared directly into his eyes, and the boy slumped, submitting.

"Now for the rest." Stoick turned this over in his mind, and the best solution was an ugly one. "Yesterday, you climbed three places you weren't supposed to in an area you were forbidden to go. Those are four large infractions and you will receive a spanking for each one; your actions were serious and I cannot do less. Now," he continued, "last night, we never put it behind us. We need to do that now. Last night is for climbing to a rooftop. You are done and we are leaving it behind, like it never happened. Do you understand?"

"It's over?"

"It's over, son. Now I will tell you what to expect. I will not become angry or shout or stand over you. I will not glare. I will remind you why it's happening and when I finish, it will be over. This is a private matter between us and no one else has to know. You will have one every other night, and the next one is tomorrow."

"Why tomorrow?"

"I will not injure you, and one every night will do that. You will be sore, nothing else."

"Will it be after we eat, or before?"

"We will eat first. Tomorrow is going to be a challenge. I expect you to be weary, want your bed, and fall asleep right away."

"Does Gobber have to know?"

"I will tell Gobber privately. He expects to know, and if I do not tell him, he will ask. This means he will not question you; Gobber is working when he sees you, and people are nearby. You do not want them overhearing."

"Oh."

"Have you more questions?"

"No, I'm done."

"Good. Today you stay inside and write lines. Do not leave the house or let anyone in. You can think about yesterday. Tonight everything will be the same as it always is, and tomorrow you face the village."

"That part still stinks, Dad." Hiccup scowled.

"It does."

"But I have to do it. You're my father and it's a command."

"Yes, and you said you would obey me."

"Yeah." A pause, followed by, "Dad? Are we done?"

"Almost. First, come here."

Hiccup climbed off the chair and went to his father. Stoick lifted his son into his lap and placed a hand on his shoulder. "This talk was hard. It took a long time, and I know you struggled with it. There were times you wanted to quit, or were afraid, or hurt, but you kept going. You did well, son." Stoick tightened his hold on the boy. Hiccup's face lit up from the praise and Stoick spotted triumph in his eyes. Hiccup did everything he was expected to, got it right, and pleased his father. His dad was proud of him.

Stoick's fear of becoming like Halvar faded. He could not hurt the boy in his lap. Hiccup's faith in Stoick vanquished his grandfather's malice. Halvar sneered down at his son, but Hiccup beamed up at his dad. Every ugly word Halvar whispered to Stoick, his son refuted with two of his own—"I'm ready."

Hiccup had liberated his father and would never know it.

"Are you unhappy now, son?"

"Nope."

"Are you afraid?" Stoick slid his hand to Hiccup's stomach.

"No-o. Why?"

"Does that mean I cannot do...this?"

Stoick's fingers ran over his son, tickling him in his sides and belly. Hiccup squirmed wildly, giggling and attempting to ward off his dad. Stoick held him tight and continued his assault, mercilessly making his boy laugh and laughing with him. Hiccup squealed and wriggled and Stoick only stopped when the boy ran out of breath.

"Now we are finished. This is over and we can put it behind us. All right?"

"Everything is fixed?"

"Fixed and forgiven, Hiccup, every bit. Do you feel better now?"

"I feel a lot better, Dad."

"Excellent." Stoick shooed Hiccup off his lap. "I need to go be Chief for a while. You can begin copying your lines for me to read tonight. Do a good job, and tonight we can spend extra time together." Dashing off the sentences, Stoick told his boy, "Get a nap; you and I will be up late." Hiccup's eyes brightened.

"The constellations?"

"Yes. I want to know how many you can find—if you can stay awake."

"I can do that. Hunting for constellations is better than anything."

"Anything except for us, son." Stoick left the house, whistling under his breath, while Hiccup lifted a charcoal to write. 

#

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

**An Aerie is a dwelling in a high location, and more specifically a nest for raptors, such as hawks and eagles.**

**Dagmal was the morning meal, eaten one or two hours after waking.**

**In Norse mythology, Odin is the most powerful god in Asgard, home of the gods and goddesses. Odin is associated with wisdom, death, battle, poetry, healing, royalty, and sorcery.**

**In no way do I condone, support, or promote abuse. In my vision of Berk, corporal punishment is another tool to get children to behave. Life is difficult and dangerous, and spanking is a common practice.**

**Please read and review.**

**Thanks!**


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